“Boy, how many times have I told you to leave things alone? Ta next time you break somethin’, I not gonna take responsibility for yo. Ta policeman can a come an take yo away.” The little chubby cheeked boy with the innocent big brown eyes looked imploringly up at his towering overweight mother…now a tear trickled down his beautiful golden-brown skin and his mother slaps him for crying and making a fuss in public. “You are ‘barrassing me and yoself.” She sternly pointed to a place on the floor and told him to sit there and don’t move until she got done talking/laughing with her friend (on the phone). He whimpered a little and she clamped down on his little shoulder; obvious from the contortion of his face it must have hurt. It was a silent cue to be quiet or suffer the consequences when they were out of anyone’s sight. He obliged without objection.
I witnessed this heartbreaking scene in the emergency room today while waiting for word on my own husband’s tests. I wanted to pick him up and hug him and tell him I thought he was being a good boy. My eyes evidently didn’t see what his mother saw when I watched the child sit on the cold gray tiled floor, seething with germs and disease. I saw a child starved for affection and wither before me like a flower without nourishment.
Mothers variously answer, yes, I am responsible for you. Yes, I am responsible for your protection, instruction, recognition and more than anything responsible for loving. If a mother has conflicting emotions; so does the child until he screams, “love me!”
There are many ways of living with a child, of nurturing, understanding and teaching. I am a mother and like all other mothers, the process includes many possible shades and intensities…I am no better than she…or she no worse than I…
“She said as she tumbled the baby in…There, little baby, go sink or swim…I brought you into this world, what more should I do? Do you expect me always to be responsible for you?” ~M
No comments:
Post a Comment